Cast My Soul to the Sea
by Levade
Summary: Sequel to Until We Rise. Glorfindel has been in Lindon, working with Elrond, for a time. Trouble is rising in Eregion, so why is Gil-galad hesitating to send them?
1. Default Chapter

_**Disclaimer:**__ If it even remotely resembles Tolkien, it's his, his estate, his heirs. _

_This is AU, a sequel to Until We Rise. Comments, suggestions welcome._

**Cast My Soul to the Sea  
Chapter One**

* * *

"We should be doing something now, not waiting."

Glorfindel fiddled with the quill in his hand, watching Elrond pace in a circle the length of his tower room. It wasn't a huge space; a living area took up the most of the round tower with a bedroom off of that. He'd found it exploring the East Wing of the Palace one day while waiting for Elrond to come out of a very long meeting with Gil-galad. Better still, it was empty as none of the others inhabiting the Wing wanted it. Drafty and cold in the winter, too hot in the summer, it also was only accessible via a dark, horrendously narrow spiral stair that reminded too many of underground tunnels.

It suited Glorfindel down to his toes. The room was ringed with windows that allowed fresh air and sunshine in, and offered an unparalleled view of the sky at night. It was also private. A heavy oak door to the stairs ensured no sharp elven ears could listen in on conversations here. There were no other rooms near it, and only a storage space beneath. Glorfindel could retreat here and be as noisy as he liked without disturbing a soul.

Sitting in one of the windows, one leg propped up on the ledge, the other dangling out over the long drop to the gardens below, he listened to Elrond rant. A rare thing, that. Usually it was him doing the raving and the darker of the two listening. Glorfindel frowned. Gil-galad again.

The Noldor King was beginning to greatly annoy Glorfindel. Seeing Elrond this worked up only added to the simmering resentment. "Why does he wait?"

Elrond threw a hand in the air, retreating to a chair and dropping into it with a sigh. "I wish I knew, Glorfindel. We know it was Sauron who came here, attempting to cozen us. We warned the other havens." Slumping in the chair, he stared up at the high-beamed ceiling. "Celebrimbor is not a soldier, and yet we send only support to Ost-in-Edhil. We knew Sauron had designs four hundred years ago, we see them playing out now and yet we wait!" He rose from the chair, prowling restlessly to a window to stare out, and scowled.

Pursing a lip, Glorfindel twirled the quill. "While Sauron is no Morgoth, from all that I have read and you have told me…" He met his friend's troubled gaze. "He is a danger to all free peoples."

With a curt nod, Elrond turned to sit in the window. "His hatred for our people especially knows no limits." A bitter smile stole the light from his eyes. "Eärendil sailed to gain the aid of the Valar in defeating Sauron's master and has hated us boundlessly since."

All elves, but perhaps several families in particular? Glorfindel tucked the thought away. Eärendil's successful voyage to Valinor had finally rallied the Valar to Endorre. Morgoth's defeat, and the loss of power for Sauron, had been a result of Eärendil and Elwing's brave deeds. Their only living heir stood before Glorfindel now. The ways of the Valar were murky at best in his opinion, and he had some direct experience to back his view. "Too bad they didn't see fit to wipe out all the evil while they were at it, hmm?"

"You, of all, know that is not their way, Glor."

Glorfindel agreed with a shrug. His own rantings on the Valar had provided amusement for Elrond in the past. "Why do you think Gil-galad delays? I would think him eager to see this strife ended, his people united."

Shaking his head, half-turned to look out over the city, Elrond let his gaze wander. "I have only one theory; that the memory of the War of Wrath is too fresh in his mind to think of bringing it upon us again so soon." Pausing, he nodded to some inner thought. "He will not repeat mistakes of the past if he can avoid them."

Glorfindel's blue eyes narrowed. "Second guessing the past is dangerous." Frowning for the memories of his own first life, then shrugging them off, he waved the quill around. "This won't go away. Sauron will not go away. His power will only grow."

"I know, my friend." Elrond sighed. "I know." He stood, shaking out his cloak. "Do you have plans for the evening?"

"I am free for the asking." Glorfindel grinned, rising in one effortless motion and offered a sweeping bow.

Elrond snorted. "Save it for the ladies of Court, you vain peacock." At the mock affronted expression he gestured with his head. "I'm off for an evening with Círdan and Bronwe. Would you care to join me?"

"Is Bron cooking?" Striding over to a table, dropping the quill, Glorfindel looked around and spotted his cloak draped over another chair. "If Círdan is…I might reconsider."

"As if you have any room to speak!" Elrond laughed outright at the truly offended look on his friend's face. "What was that horrid concoction you called stew on our last trip?"

Eyebrow arched, he turned to face Elrond. "That guard house stove hadn't been used for well over a hundred years! How was I to know you needed to clean the flume?" He huffed at the remembrance of the clouds of ash and smoke that had all but suffocated him. "I do just fine over an open fire." Flinging the cloak around his shoulders and fastening it, he added, "And you shouldn't listen to tales from others." Blue eyes gleamed with good humour.

"Come." Elrond gestured for him to follow, shaking his head. "Bronwe is playing hostess. I think she's lonely with Taurion assigned to Eregion."

"I didn't realize she was back from Edhellond." Glorfindel's voice echoed eerily in the stairwell.

"From what she said we almost didn't get her back at all."

"Oh?"

"She had family there she never knew of and was quite taken with them. Falathrim who crossed the mountains before Beleriand sunk." Elrond pushed open the tower door, stepping into the main passage of the East Wing. "To use her words, 'it was warmer, the ocean incredible, and had huge forests.'"

"She would abandon us for that?" Glorfindel caught the gaze of a passing page who appeared to be listening and arched his eyebrow, staring pointedly at the youth. The younger elf flushed and hurried on.

"From how she tells it..." Elrond smiled. "...yes."

"I suppose that's one thing to be thankful for Taurion then." Ignoring Elrond's pointed frown he swiped a handful of fragrant flowers from the Palace gardens and grinned at him. "Something for the hostess." Lifting them to his nose he drew in an appreciative breath.

Elrond rolled his eyes, well used to the other's ways. "You're just hoping she'll forget that you left your horse untethered last time and it ate the entire bower of herbs."

"That horse untied itself!" Glorfindel huffed. "He was too sneaky by half. It's just as well he ran off." He smiled suddenly, the sort of smile that usually signaled mischief of one sort or another. There seemed to be no end of schemes in the blonde elf's mind. "...She forgave me."

Stopping, Elrond cocked an eyebrow. "You're lucky it wasn't Ramë." With a smirk, he turned and continued walking.

Pursing a lip, Glorfindel nodded. The Lorien elf was a more temperamental creature, best treated with careful handling. Or several meads and a few bawdy jokes. "Ramë likes me," he insisted as he caught up. "We both revile Galadriel unashamedly."

That was true.

"And Gil-galad."

"Well…yes." Offering an unrepentant grin, happy to be the fool if it got a smile on his friend's face, and removed the brooding darkness for a time. "Tanthus said he has a new gelding he wanted to show me."

"He breeds sound horses." Elrond slanted a smile at the other. "One that might even put up with your temperament."

Glorfindel stopped walking to frown. "My temperament?"

Bowing to a woman who had to step aside to avoid walking into his companion's back, Elrond chuckled. "You can hardly expect me to compliment you, Glorfindel." Arched an eyebrow, and turned to continue walking. "As it is you have a veritable seraglio who would attend you."

"Truly?" He chuckled. "I like the sound of that… Imagine any number of females waiting upon my every whim."

"You imagine it." Elrond snorted. "Even one to attend and keep happy seems too much at times."

"You're too busy with the king's duties." A dark look said what he thought of that. How many times had he come upon Elrond slumped over a map, finally sleeping after days of non-stop responsibilities? He had threatened to sleep on the threshold of half-elf's quarters, warning off those who would disturb his sleep for some minor crises easily handled by another.

Just as well Elrond hadn't heard him chiding more than one of the king's advisors for running too quickly for the Herald.

"They use you, and I don't care for it one bit."

Smile mild, but clearly amused, Elrond clapped his shoulder. "Then it is just as well I have you around to remind me, isn't it?"

"Actually?" Glorfindel preened, blue eyes gleaming. "Yes." Which made the other laugh, just as he'd hoped, forgetting at least for a time about the worries that darkened their lands.

* * *

Another formal gathering, another excuse for the Court to dress up and try to impress one another.

Another night to be bored to a mind-numbing state.

"Wenna, wait here. I see someone I need to speak with." Taurion strode off, leaving Bronwe to frown at his back. Just once would it be too much to leave off being a soldier? Just one night, it was all she asked. One night to put aside all but the most pressing concerns, especially considering Taurion was only home for two days, charged with delivering plans to Gil-galad. He had already spent most of the time in meetings with senior officers and the King's advisors. Taurion was thorough in executing his duties, and the nervous feel of the court didn't help put him at ease. Darkness was growing, even the youngest of elves, those who hadn't lived through the War of Wrath, felt it in the air. There was a chill that came from the east and roused old fears in many. Sighing, she shook her head and turned to walk over to a bench, sitting with casual disregard for the intricate draping of her gown.

She looked up through the trees to the stars. A beautiful night, with a perfect crescent moon hanging as if placed there by some artistic hand. Warm still, as late summers typically were in Mithlond. And she was spending it sitting on a bench in a garden that was far too precise and planned for her sensibilities. A garden that, to her way of thinking, symbolized the whole formality of the Noldor Court.

How was it that she ended up at so many of these blasted formal goings-on when she truly wasn't part of the Court? Taurion insisted, when he was present, and Círdan persuaded her the other times. He had about as much love of them as she, possibly less, but by dragging her along he at least ensured someone who shared his sentiments.

Pulling the beaded gauze of her shawl up over a bared shoulder, she shook her head, wincing as a braid caught on the metal work of the bench. Berating herself for feeling sorry and pouting in a corner, she stood. "Wait here for him." Bronwe mimicked Taurion's Noldorin accent. "I could wait until the Valar come back before -" Seeing a couple approaching, at least one of the two familiar, she closed her mouth and tried to look happy.

"Bron!" Glorfindel grinned, taking her arm with an approving look. "Lovely as ever. Slipped the leash again, hmm?" He winked, pretending not to see her annoyed frown. "Have you met Meldisse?"

"No." She smiled at the raven-haired beauty, no doubt Glorfindel's latest paramour. They flocked to him like birds to a fruit tree and it seemed he was always introducing a new one. "Pleased to meet you."

"Bronwe is the second friend I made after returning, but I was wearing clothing by then." The blonde elf smiled warmly, eyes sparkling. "If I speak poorly, blame her." Ignoring the scornful huff, he looked around.

"Mistress Healer." Meldisse slipped her hand through Glorfindel's arm with a proprietary air, much to Bronwe's amusement. As if she was competition.

"Have you seen Elrond?"

"No, but I know earlier he was determined to speak to the king." Glorfindel's expression shifted as his gaze went over her shoulder, hardening to a hauteur he rarely showed outside of Court. "He's concerned about Eregion."

Bronwe startled as she was pulled back and held against another body, Taurion's voice speaking quite near her ear. "As is everyone else. I'm certain we all believe the High King is concerned for all elves in Middle-earth."

Ah, a favourite game. Glorfindel let a smile curl his mouth. "I'm not certain Amdír would agree."

"I meant his Noldor subjects."

"Ah." Blue eyes gleaming as Taurion clearly looked annoyed, Glorfindel let his gaze go to Bronwe. "Celebrimbor must be feeling that concern right now quite strongly as his city is overrun."

This was an old source of contention, one that Glorfindel had gleefully poked at since first meeting Taruion. His dislike of Gil-galad's method of ruling was far from secret.

"I'll have you know we leave in the morning, taking dispatches to Lord Celebrimbor."

"Dispatches." Disdain dripped off every vowel. "No doubt Celebrimbor will find the parchment of great assistance."

"He has brought this upon himself." Taurion was gripping Bronwe's arms tightly. Too tightly and she tried to ease away, unhappy at being between the two antagonists yet again. "It is his own fault! We warned him not to treat with Annatar."

"And what of his subjects? Or the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn?"

"As if you care what happens to the Lady."

"She is my cousin, distant perhaps but I cannot say I have any desire to see her dead." Glorfindel was unruffled, speaking calmly even as Taurion's face and neck flushed red.

"And yet from all I have been told, for all your vaunted care, Lord Glorfindel, you will not even take up the sword and commission offered to you by King Gil-galad."

Bronwe winced at the taunting tone, and pulled away. "Enough, Taurion. Both of you. Enough!"

"I served my chosen lord to the consequences of my death." Glorfindel was every inch an Eldar lord as he pinned a cold gaze on the younger elf. "Don't speak to me of sacrifice when you are barely out of your second century and have yet to fight in a war."

"And yet now you will but rest on those laurels." Scorn dripped from Taurion's words.

Bronwe turned to put her hands on his chest as Glorfindel's eyes flashed. "Taurion! Enough. You will not agree. Let it go at that."

"And what of him, your great friend and once patient, what of that, Wenna?"

She flinched as if hit, letting her hands fall to her side. "I think it best if you left now."

One last furious glare at Glorfindel, and Taurion stalked off, leaving Bronwe to stare after him.

"Bronwe-"

"Don't." She turned to face the pair, eyes silver in her anger. "You goaded him, Glorfindel, as you do every time you and he are in one place together. It is truly beyond me why two grown males cannot simply agree to disagree and let it go instead of turning it into a pissing contest, but I'm done with it tonight." A mocking curtsy and she turned, leaving the pair alone in the garden.

Glorfindel frowned after her, annoyed. Not because she wasn't right but there was just something about Taurion that rubbed him wrong. That air of Noldor pride and arrogance. And for what? What had he done to feel he could be so proud?

"That was unpleasant."

Meldisse. He'd forgotten her in the middle of angry words. Contrite, Glorfindel held out his arm. "Quite." A smile, a bit forced but he doubted she would notice. "Shall we stroll around the lake?"

* * *

A curt rap on her door the next morning was all the warning Bronwe got before opening it to see Taurion standing there. He was dressed in the silver and blue of Gil-galad's livery, a heavy grey cloak over his shoulders to ward off the rain. Black hair was pulled back so tightly she knew he would have a headache by the end of the day.

"I came to wish you well, Wenna."

Pursing her lips as he took off his gloves, Bronwe nodded. "You're still angry." And she was tired of it all. "I don't know what it will take to make you believe me, Taurion."

He reached for her hand, grasping it, grey eyes meeting her gaze. "Marry me when I return."

Bronwe stared at him, at a loss for words. How long now had they been betrothed, and he put off setting a date due to circumstances. Duty. Disagreement about her continuing to act as a healer once they were married. Now with a war pending, he wanted to marry? "I—"

"No." He put a finger to her lips and offered a wry smile. "Say nothing now."

"But-"

He cut her off by pulling her against him, capturing her lips in a kiss that was more passionate than any they had yet shared. Bronwe was breathless when he pulled away and set her back. "Think on it, Wenna."

Gathering her scattered wits, Bronwe watched him mount his horse and ride off without even looking back.

Think on it. Think on it? What bad tales of gallantry had he been reading? You did not argue with your betrothed then simply ride off the next day as if nothing happened! "Blast it." Bronwe scowled at the street where only a few geese waddled down the lane, heading for the meadow. From the harbor she could hear the sailors singing as they set out for sea and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted in from town.

"As if he's just going to ride back and grab me up to wed me when he returns?" She snorted and grabbed the basket by her doorstep. "Oh, his mother and sisters would love that, wouldn't they?" There was no love lost between his very properly Noldor mother and herself. Far from welcoming her into the family, the woman had done all she could to discourage her son from wedding a 'dark elf'.

"Bloody Noldor." Bronwe pulled the cloak off the clothesline it was hanging on, and tossed it over her shoulders as a light drizzle of rain began to fall. "Think they're the only learned ones and the rest of us are a bunch of dirty savages." She was generalizing, being unfair, and knew it, but it felt good to mutter as she set out for the town. Some days, the kinslaying in Doriath was a bit too vivid in her mind, and she wondered yet again what kept her in the largely Noldor city.

Cresting a hill, she looked down at the harbor, and the swanships bobbing at the quays. Songs rose in the air as the sailors readied the ships, the words Teler, and it made her smile. This was why. The sea, the sea and those who loved it as she did.

Changing course, she headed for the shipyards, curious to see what Cirdan had to say about everything.

One could always count on the old shipwright for an acerbic answer, and that was exactly what she was looking for.

* * *

Commission or not, nothing was going to keep Glorfindel from riding at the side of Elrond. He needed neither oath or approval, only his sword, dagger and bow. Anyone who wanted to try and stop him was quite welcome to try.

It was almost a disappointment to see Gil-galad walking with Elrond, meet his eyes and get only a nod.

Well then. Patting the neck of his horse, he looked down the columns of elves behind him. They looked good, ready to ride out and face what could be very bad indeed. Most of them were strangers, and with a last pat, Glorfindel walked down the lines, speaking here and there with a soldier. It helped settle him, and calmed them as well. He was a survivor of the Nirnaeth, one of the bloodiest battles ever fought.

The Gondolin reputation didn't hurt either.

Glorfindel was just about to turn back when a familiar voice stopped him. Slowly turning, he blinked at the sight of Bronwe checking a saddlebag and his feet were moving before his brain had time to yell at him to stop.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

She looked up, frowned and stood. "Making sure I have all my gear, same as many here I should think."

Hair braided tightly off her face, dressed in dark leggings and tunic, grey cloak over that, she looked ready to ride with them. "You cannot mean to hare off after Taurion." It was out of his mouth before he thought about it, but then that was all part of what he was famous for.

Bronwe's mouth tightened but she held his gaze. "No, I mean to ride with the other healers to Nîn-in-Eilph." Setting a hand on her horses' shoulder to settle it, she arched an eyebrow. "Healers will be needed."

"Yes, doubtless," Glorfindel said impatiently, "and yet I find it odd that you volunteered."

"You have all the tact of an Orc." Bronwe turned to pick up her saddlebag and slung it over her horses' shoulders, fastening it down. She rode as Silvan elves did, without a saddle. "I don't believe your approval is required, Glorfindel."

While she was technically right, it did nothing to stop his ire. "Mine, no. His," he pointed to where Elrond was walking towards them, having noted the argument, "yes."

The look she shot Glorfindel was not kind, but Bronwe resolutely waited for Elrond to join them, aware that he already looked harried. The last thing he needed now was a petulant argument.

"Is something wrong, Glorfindel?"

Bronwe could not stop her eyebrows arching upwards, but did manage not to smirk.

Glorfindel felt no compunctions to control his annoyance. "Elrond, you cannot think to let her ride into a battle."

"No." Calm, clearly in control, Elrond met the blue gaze of his friend. "The healers ride to Nîn-in-Eilph where we will leave them with a unit of soliders. The rest of us will ride on to Ost-in-Edhil." Sarcasm laced his tone. "I think twenty leagues plenty of distance to keep they and the wounded safe. Do you disagree?"

A clear challenge from one he did respect was not taken lightly. Glorfindel shot a look at Bronwe, then met the grey eyes of his lord. "I leave it to your judgment." A shallow bow and he spun to walk quickly back towards his horse.

Elrond held up a hand as Bronwe opened her mouth. "No, please, Bronwe. No more. I have heard enough arguing today." She closed her mouth with a snap, and nodded. "Stay with the others, and for the love of all the stars above, don't get hurt."

"I'll do my best, milord." Bronwe gave a sniff as he turned. "I should hope you do the same."

It made Elrond smile as he walked back up to the front of the column, even as he met the brooding gaze of his friend. "Anything else to say, Glorfindel?"

"No." A rather grim smile curved his mouth. "Except I am glad to be riding here at the front rather than the middle or rear. The mud is horrendous today."

Shaking his head as he mounted, Elrond signaled the column forward. Knowing his friend as well as he did, Glorfindel would drop back to ride with some of the other soldiers and get just as dirty and mucked up as they. But it suited him to be considered vain, which wasn't an untruth. Ai. Nothing was easy lately.

Elrond kneed his horse forward and set his mind upon what to expect when they reached his cousin's city. He only hoped it would not be as bad as they all feared.

* * *

Notes: So it's been re-written yet again. I have the rest finished and being beta'd, but if you see anything you wonder about, let me know. I love to hear what people think, good or bad.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ If it even remotely resembles Tolkien, it's his, his estate, his heirs. _

_This is AU, a sequel to Until We Rise. Comments, suggestions welcome._

**Cast My Soul to the Sea  
Chapter Two**

* * *

They left a unit of soldiers with the healers just east of Nîn-in-Eilph, on the River Sirannon. The men of Tharbad were curious, but not enough to approach the elven army. Already jumpy by the repeated attacks of Orcs raiding their stores, the denizens of Thabad watched the Elves cross the ford, and continue on. Elves were strange creatures in those dark days, and rarely came down from their grand city to trade with the Men. They kept mostly to themselves, and that suited most of the men. These elves were soldiers, from the coast where many knew the Elven King lived. They rode in an eerie silence, looking at those curious to get a glimpse of them with eyes that were just inhuman enough to make mothers gather their children to keep them from chasing after. That they glowed slightly in the gathering dusk was even more reason to let them pass and be gone.

No, the Elves, they decided, were best left alone to deal with the dark things that roamed the night if that was their inclination. That suited the men who stayed indoors as soon as the sun began to go down.

Bronwe finished help set up the tents and stopped to watch a flight of swans soar in over Nîn-in-Eilph. A thick stand of holly trees was a stone's throw away, but beyond that, up the steep rise and hill, she could just make out the glittering white towers of a city.

"They are fearful." Eärnur watched as a group of humans approached, wary and wounded. "We will help you," he offered in a gentle voice, but the humans stopped and only watched them warily.

They have a great deal to fear." At his incredulous look, she shook her head. "Not from us, but certainly the darker things that roam these lands."

"And mosquitoes!" The healer slapped at his arm, sending a glare towards the wetlands. "We'd best set up the candles or we'll be sucked dry by the insects."

Holding out her hands, Bronwe and several others more familiar with Westron approached the women and children. They spoke softly, soothing the fears of the jumpy humans, and led them to tents where their wounds could be tended.

With a last glance eastwards, Bronwe offered a gentle smile for a timid child and gestured for him to follow.

She wondered where Taurion was. Probably in the city itself, or encamped outside, the better to defend. Trying to forget that Glorfindel had not said another word to her, nor even glanced in her direction since the first morning of departure. Angry words shouldn't be the last spoken between friends. She'd learned that in Doriath. She sighed and sent a prayer winging for all of them as she knelt to discover how the child had broken his arm.

* * *

Glorfindel cursed as the morning light revealed the true destruction. He slashed at a holly bush and nudged his mount forward.

Ost-in-Edhil was a ruin. Buildings fallen, burned, the walls collapsed. Bodies of the slain laying where they'd been cut down, grey eyes staring upwards in sightless ruin. The white towers of the city fallen. Dismounting, he stood at the edges of the ruined walls, aware of the others moving around him. Swallowing heavily at the smell of gore and blood, he drew an arm across his forehead.

This was not Gondolin. No dragons scaled the walls. No Balrogs challenged the mountain passes.

"Glorfindel?" Elrond rode up beside the other, concerned at the stark expression and rigid stance. He swung off his horse, walking over to clasp his shoulder and winced at the onslaught of emotions. "We came too late."

Breaking free of the memories, the blond drew in a long, ragged breath. "There might be survivors in the hills." He raised his head to look up at the green slopes. Spring. The green returning to the land. Now blighted with blood, but not enough to account for all who had once lived in the city.

"We'll have to search the city as well." Elrond pushed back the sickness rising at the sight of so many dead. He had gotten to known Celebrimbor in the short time his cousin had lived in Lindon. Clever, quick in temperament and wit, it seemed his cousin had too much of his father's pride, and quite as much of his talent. Just like his father, it now seemed Celebrimbor's life was cut short. "Before dark."

"They'll return." Glorfindel nodded, turning a grim expression on Elrond. "Sauron won't stop here."

"No."

"I'll gather a unit and search the far end. Send the rest east and west."

Elrond nodded. "I'll take the last and search House of the Mírdain."

"Elrond." Glorfindel frowned. "Are you certain?"

He nodded. "Go. Tell them not to delay." Starting to turn, Elrond reached out to grab the others' cloak. "Glorfindel. Be vigilant."

He nodded, a grim smile curving his lips. "You as well."

In the end, they hadn't been able to make much of a difference. Sauron and his forces had poured down upon them at nightfall. Green hills ran black, both with Orcs, and later, with their blood.

It had gone that way three days. Three days to gather those they could find, those wounded or hiding. He had sent those who could ride to the river with a warning for the healers to be ready to run. Elrond knew they wouldn't leave yet, regardless of what he ordered.

Starlight was obliterated by smoke and fire.

Elrond, his voice hoarse from yelling over the cries of Orcs and Easterlings coming against them, signaled a retreat. Wheeling his horse, he sliced at the Orc charging him and urged his mount forward as he tried to see through the smoke just who was near him. A puff of air past his cheek and a grunt of pain to his left, and he turned to see an Orc go down, an arrow between its eyes.

"Go!" Glorfindel had another arrow notched already, losing it before firing off another in rapid succession. Gaining them some ground to run. He shot two more arrows before turning his own horse to chase after Elrond.

Leaving behind the ruins of a once beautiful city.

And the taste of ashes.

They had pushed hard to get to the encampment on the Sirannon, and found the healers had moved to a position past the marshes. A position that forced an enemy to come through the wetlands or go around thus ensuring they had time to move.

Elrond, face black from soot, offered a rather feral grin for his companion. "I trust you believe me now?"

Glorfindel, hair grey in places from ash, face streaked with soot, shook his head. It was well the healers had the wit to move before danger was upon them, but they were far from safe. "We must get beyond the plains."

"I know." As he dismounted and handed the reins to Glorfindel, Elrond nodded. "The horses need a rest and so do we."

"I'll set the watches." Glorfindel turned his horse, urging it towards the picket lines, Elrond's horse following.

Walking through the camp, Elrond stopped to talk to some he knew and urged them to rest. His weary feet led him to the healers tents and he paused. He should check in, see how they were doing. There were so many wounded, so many who needed help.

Deciding to look in on them, he stepped through the nearest tent's flap and almost groaned at the sight of so many wounded elves. Some were just children. Mindless of his own discomfort, he stopped to bend next to one of the soldiers he knew. Closing his eyes Elrond pulled the sheet up over the young elf's face. Nothing to be done there.

He moved on, stopping to speak to some, see what they needed. Bringing water and comfort as he could.

"Sir?"

He looked up as a healer whose name he couldn't place touched his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Milord, we have a patient over in the other tent who…" Hesitating, the healer gestured. "Sir, please come with me."

Almost afraid of what he wasn't being told, Elrond nodded, following the healer out of the current tent and into another.

This one was much quieter. He tensed as he felt the change and realized he should have known. It was normal procedure to keep the dead and mortally injured in a separate tent. Away from those who were expected to recover.

Elrond frowned as he saw Bronwe, though he was relieved she was alive.

"They brought Taurion in." Eärnur flinched as Elrond turned a sharp look upon him. "He was horribly wounded. We did what we could but his wounds were terrible." Elrond closed his eyes, and shunted the sorrow aside. Not now. Not here. He was needed. There was no need to ask, he could see for himself in dark circles under her eyes and trembling hands that she was not doing half as well as she wanted everyone to think. A nod and he stepped over to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder as she re-bandaged a seeping wound.

"Bronwe."

"Elrond." She startled and stared at him a moment before jumping up to hug him. "You are well!"

Setting her gently back, he offered a weary smile and squeezed her shoulders. "Did you doubt?"

Lip trembling, she looked away, gesturing around with a hand. "There are so many."

"And many survived." Taking her arm, he guided her towards the tent flap. "Driving yourself to exhaustion will not help them, Bronwe."

She stopped at the flap, turning to look at one cot in particular where a lone figure lay, covered by a blanket. It seemed so heartless to just leave him here. She knew he was but the shell, that his fea had long since fled, but still it hurt. "What will we do with them, Elrond?"

Following her glance, he knew she meant the bodies of those fallen and sighed. Mandos had been busy, but they did not have time to bury all of those who died. Elven bodies would turn to ash eventually, but with Orcs and worse prowling the hills they could not just leave them. "We cannot bring them with us, Bronwe. Sauron will not give us time to bury them as we should."

Biting her lip hard enough to taste blood, Bronwe dug for the strength to do what must be done. "What of …of fires?"

"Pyres?" Elrond frowned. It was not a tradition of the Noldor or Sindar, but he knew some of the Avari burned their dead.

"We cannot leave them to be …mauled." Voice cracking, she fisted her hands and met his gaze. "I would rather his body be burned than leave it to the creatures following us."

Was it really his choice? Elrond closed his eyes, pushing his weariness back, trying to marshal his thoughts. So much to be done, and so many who no longer had families looked to him to lead. He had women and children out there as well as wounded survivors. "Let us ask the families, Bronwe." Holding up a hand to stop her words, Elrond shook his head. "It is the least we can do, offering this choice before they must leave everything."

Bowing her head, she nodded and let him usher her from the tent.

Glorfindel turned as they came out and his smile of greeting faltered seeing the wan, pale faces. "What has happened?"

Bronwe shook her head and pulled free of Elrond's grip. "I…I'll see you later." She hurried off before either of them could speak.

"Let her go." Elrond put out a hand to forestall Glorfindel from following. "Taurion is dead."

Blue eyes widened in surprise and Glorfindel's gaze went to the tent. "He is …"

"Yes." Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, Elrond grimaced at the smell of blood and wounds mixing with the decaying matter of the swamps. He wanted to run from the place. Run and not stop until the stench and sorrow was only a memory.

So much gone wrong. So many lives changed irreparably.

Again.

"Elrond, do not give in to despair."

Looking up with an almost bemused expression, Elrond wasn't surprised to find Glorfindel had taken hold of his arm and was guiding him towards another tent, one away from the wounded. He decided he wasn't so proud that he couldn't lean a bit on his friend this one time.

"You're drained."

Dark tones that almost…almost made him laugh. It turned into a sigh instead. "Yes, I suppose so."

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Healers. Thought they were indestructible. Finding an empty cot he pressed Elrond down, and covered him with a blanket. "I'll wake you before dawn."

"See that you do." He was asleep as soon as the last word was out.

* * *

When dawn came one day later, Elven voices rose in lament for those slain. Some of the songs were old, some so ancient that they had come with those who crossed the ice, and Glorfindel shivered to hear them sung here in this land. Fog shrouded the sun, leaving the land in a grey mist that made it all the more surrealistic as smoke rose from the pyres. Though many of those slain had been Noldor, there had been Sindar as well, and the laments came from the customs of both clans.

Bronwe stood with the other healers, her face so pale and strained that Glorfindel wished there was something, anything that could be said to make her feel better.

There were no words. He knew from his own former life that losing a loved one was a wound so deep some never recovered. It was a mercy, in his estimation, that she had not wed Taurion. The wound would have been even deeper then, but then Bronwe was not asking for his opinions.

She hadn't even spoken one word to him as yet.

Was she angry at him? It seemed out of character, but then grief was an odd thing. Some it left cold and distant and others distraught, incapable of being comforted.

Lifing his voice in a lament, a plea to Námo to guide the souls of the fallen, to heal them in his halls and hope …always hope that they would again walk together again on the white shores of Aman, Glorfindel resolved all the more to be the strength to his friends in this time. His strength was undiminished, his soul strong and sure in its path.

Sauron had shown himself for what he was here; the deceiver, the trickster.

Next time they would be ready.

* * *

"Bronwe?" Glorfindel waited, not certain she would even acknowledge him, but finally she turned and faced him. Waiting until the other healers had passed out of ear shot, healers were a nosy lot, always asking too many questions, he sought for her gaze but she looked everywhere but directly at him. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Tightening the grip on her cloak, Bronwe looked at the pyres, now just ashes and swallowed hard. "Are you?"

He almost took a step back as she met his gaze, grey eyes hard. Angry. "You never liked him, did you?"

Deep breath and he squared his shoulders. "We did not see eye-to-eye on many things, but I never wished for his death. You cannot think I did."

"I don't know what to think." Her voice cracked and he almost took a step forward but she held out a hand, warding him off. "Just…please do not say you're sorry. Not for me and certainly not for him." A last glance for the pyres and a tear slid down her cheek as she turned away. "I must help the others."

And she was gone.

Glorfindel watched her go, his mind reeling from the anger in her gaze. Had he ever done anything to Taurion? They had spoken harshly with one another, rarely agreeing on anything, but there was nothing he had done to earn such anger.

Resolutely putting it down to grief, he scowled as he turned to go find Elrond. The sooner they left this blighted land the better.

* * *

At dawn they packed up only what was necessary, and moved out, walking, riding past the frightened gazes of the men. Carts were followed closely by guards, carrying wounded and those too weak to walk or ride. Many humans had begged to be allowed to follow, afraid of what had beaten those who had seemed so strong, so wise. Elrond, full of pity for the sight of so many fearful gazes, had relented and allowed them to come as well. He would not willingly leave any here for Sauron to torment.

A flight of swans winged overhead, honking, calling to the elves below in a final farewell. Songs, low and quiet, rising mournfully sent shivers through those men who would not leave, but watched from a distance. They would not leave their homes, the land they had long tended and fought for and Elrond, though counseling against staying, left the choice to them.

He could not fault them this day for not following the advice of the Elves. What had it led them to but death and ruin?

A human child broke free of the adults and ran after them, waving.

The sun shone down upon them, a light breeze flagging cloaks, brushing across faces, more than one wet with tears.

Riding next to Elrond, Glorfindel shook his head. "If they have any sense they'll leave."

"And go where?"

Glorfindel lapsed into gloomy silence. Silence that lasted until they stopped for a rest and sat under a tree, watching clouds form and sail across the pale blue of the sky.

Stick in hand, Elrond scratched designs in the dirt. He looked out over the long line of carts and horses, soldier and former citizens of a once-great city wandering through the ranks of wounded, offering water and comfort. "Returning these people to Mithlond, to Lindon, is no mercy."

Glorfindel nodded, expression annoyed. "I knew something was brewing in that head of yours. What are you thinking?"

"We did them a great disservice waiting so long to come to their aid." Elrond looked at him. "Do you recall that valley up in the Misty Mountains. The one with all the waterfalls you said called to mind Gondolin?"

Golden eyebrows rose. "Yes. 'Twas beautiful."

Elrond nodded. "I say we go there." He narrowed his eyes as he looked west. "Gil-galad has been urging me to find somewhere to found another haven. One that could offer assistance."

"Now." Glorfindel stared at the other elf as though he couldn't believe he was doing something so impulsive. "Though they expect us back?" Naught but the promise of a gleam in his eyes as he waited for the answer.

"Yes."

"What of the soldiers? The survivors?"

"Those who wish to come with us may." He tossed the stick aside. "It's not as though I'm disobeying orders, Glorfindel. I was told to find and found a haven." Elrond's look was grim. "The timing is mine, that is all."

Glorfindel nodded, an approving smile curving his lips. "You know I go with you."

"I had hoped so." Picking up a pebble, Elrond tossed it. "My thinking is thus. You and I return with those who will to Lindon." He looked up, meeting the other elf's gaze. "We cannot leave Bronwe yet, and I would tell Gil-galad myself of my plans." He smiled at the relief on Glorfindel's face. "Golradir was with us on that scouting trip to the valley. If he recalls the way, I would send him onward with those who will go to the valley before we go any further. The rest of us will return to Lindon. Any now injured who are well enough then may accompany us when we leave and go east."

"We'll have only summer and fall to build what we can before winter comes." Glorfindel tapped a finger on his thigh, calculating time and what needed to be done before nodding. "It can be done…if we leave soon."

"Precisely." Elrond frowned. "One other thing I would have you do?"

"You have but to name it."

"You know where Ramë's flet is, at the edge of Amdir's realm?"

Glorfindel nodded. He recalled it clearly from the visit they had made only several years earlier.

Elrond hesitated, wondering if it was truly wise to ask this of Ramë. She was Bronwe's friend, counted as family to the other healer. If he didn't tell her, Ramë might never forgive him. "Find her and tell her what happened, all of it. Ask her to come to Mithlond with you."

Glorfindel rose to his feet. "I'll find Golradir and send him to you before I leave."

Elrond stood also. "Glorfindel." He stopped the other elf with a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

Glorfindel's smile was brilliant, lighting even his eyes. He offered a bow, bringing a smile to Elrond's face, before turning and striding off.

Changes were coming, the very changes he had been expecting. Though some…Glorfindel's steps slowed as he neared the spot he knew Bronwe was resting with the other healers and injured. Some, he wished he could have helped avoid.

Shaking his head, he moved on. One continued forward or was swept aside.

The world simply did not wait for anyone.

* * *

_TBC_

_This part is newer, re-written and …. Well, let me know what you think? Thank you for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__ If it even remotely resembles Tolkien, it's his, his estate, his heirs. _

_This is AU, a sequel to Until We Rise. Comments, suggestions welcome._

**Cast My Soul to the Sea  
Chapter Three**

* * *

How had it come to this? A room that was normally a ballroom, complete with gilded decorations, mirrors and intricate scrollwork, now housed the hundreds of refugees from Ost-in-Edhi. Walking a narrow aisle between cots, Gil-galad stopped to speak to those awake and aware, to touch a shoulder, say a quiet word of encouragement or hold a hand and do what he could to reassure them they were safe.

Safe.

Sauron was still out there, and now, from what Elrond had reported back, was bent on finding the rings Celebrimbor had crafted apart from Sauron's influence.

Two of them were in his own possession. Safe, for now, but the keeping of them haunted Gil-galad. He could not have refused them, Celebrimbor had made it clear they were things of power, great power and if Sauron should gain them, it would mean ruin for all people, not just the Elves. Galadriel had the one remaining ring, Celebrimbor had given it to her before she left for Lorien.

But Sauron had the One. The ruling ring, made to entrap the Elves, Men and Dwarves. Celebrimbor had managed to avert a total disaster by getting the three rings to safety, but it was far from finished.

And now? Now Gil-galad knew Sauron's attention would turn to Lindon and Mithlond. To the last kingdom of Noldor Elves in Middle-earth.

His people. Kneeling at the side of a wounded child, one small arm bandaged, pale face bruised and pinched with worry, Gil-galad felt his heart constrict. He had been sent from his home as a child as well, sent to Círdan for his own safety. Reaching out, he gently smoothed the black hair from the child's forehead. Yes, he knew what it was to lose a home, a father, mother. Ereinion Gil-galad, grandson of Fingolfin, had felt the weight of responsibility for many years, even as a young elf. He had grown up hearing tales of Aman, and of the valiant deeds of his family.

He knew the darker side of his family history as well. They had walked a fine line between madness and bravery then and he did as well. The despair sometimes ate at him, made him long to take up arms, and challenge the old foes.

But now, now these people looked to him to guide them through the darkness. It wasn't just his life on the line.

There was more, so much more at stake.

* * *

The map laid out on the table had a blue marker set in the northlands, lands largely left alone by the elves of Lindon. Red indicated lands held by Sauron, green was Lorien and silver marked Círdan's Havens.

He walked around the table, recalling the details from the first scouting trip. A deep valley, easily defensible on three sides, good timber, water sources and plentiful game, the Bruinen Valley seemed as good as any spot for an Elven stronghold. Gil-galad rubbed his forehead where his circlet had pressed against the skin all day, wishing he could toss the wretched thing in the sea. Ah, but it was merely a symbol, if a heavy one. If it was so easy to simply toss cares in the ocean, Ulmo would be inundated. Resting his hand on Elrond's shoulder, Gil-galad met the other's gaze. "I shall hate to lose you here, Elrond, but I think you are right. We need a defensible position in the north." And something told him he would need an ally in the coming years. Gil-galad's gaze went to Glorfindel and, with a sigh, the king went to sit in a window seat. "You go with him, Glorfindel?"

As if there was any doubt? A smile and Glorfindel nodded. "Yes."

Well. He never had been one for many words, had he? Gil-galad offered a mild smile. "These refugees you sent ahead, do they have the skills to build a haven? If not, gather those who do, Elrond, before you go. There are some in Círdan's shipyards who have become restless of late, and speak of setting off to do new things. Falathrim mostly, but they have great skill in woodworking. Círdan would not miss them too terribly as they were, in his words, not doing much of late anyways."

Elrond let a genuine smile curl his mouth. "I will ask, thank you."

It was an uncomfortable silence and the king sighed. They had already met with the Council, and now Celebrimbor's fate was undoubtedly spreading around the city like wildfire. Elves were wonderful gossips and bad news always had swift wings. "I fear many will sail now that Ost-in-Edhil has fallen."

The words were softly spoken, and Elrond pondered it before answering. "There are many who will remain, my lord. Only those who are faint of heart would fly now when it is clear we need strength to face these coming times."

"Or do you fear they will see Elrond's leaving as a reason to sail?"

Slanting a look at Glorfindel, Gil-galad shook his head. "No. Elrond's leaving is no secret, nor the reason for it. What plagues me, Glorfindel, are those who say this is a sign from the Valar that the curse, our…doom, is upon us at last." Standing, he plucked his circlet from the desk and spun it on a finger, much as he had as a younger elf, before setting it gently on the desk again. Círdan would chide him for behaving like a very elfling, and the thought made the king smile. It was the stalwart souls like Círdan and Elrond who steadied him when his path grew dark and despair fell upon him. "There are those who say sending Elrond away is dooming our city. Eärendil's son, and the slayer of a Balrog come back to us in this time of need. Powerful allies, and we are sending them away. This is folly. Pure folly."

"We will remain allies and friends." Elrond bowed his head slightly. It was not just allegiance that held him loyal to Gil-galad. When he and Elros had first come to Lindon, Gil-galad had befriended them, made them feel welcome. For two young and confused peredhil, it had been a secure, safe haven, a home, and Gil-galad had done what he could to ease their way. Elrond had never forgotten that. He never would. "It would be a mistake to consolidate our strength, milord. Better to have multiple targets rather than one."

Glorfindel crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, listening but remaining silent. He had said all he would say already. Gondolin's secrecy had not saved her. Then again, nothing would have saved her in his estimation. They had doomed themselves by not following Ulmo's warnings.

Warnings in the form of chosen messengers were not so prevalent any longer, but it didn't take a scrying mirror to realize the time of Elves was drawing to a close in Middle-earth.

Men were growing in strength. Númenor had been raised for the faithful, but Eärendil was the hope of all, wasn't he? So long as he sailed the sky, Glorfindel would not give up.

In a mercurial change of mood, Gil-galad threw his arm around Elrond's shoulders and drew him along with him towards the door. "Enough of this. Come and let us find what my chef prepared for evening meal. He is threatening to quit me and sail. " A grin for a few courtiers who stared at the trio as they passed. "My appetite deserted me while you were gone and I cannot say I have much as yet but… Let my people see that there is harmony between us."

For they would all need to be united and of one mind when the enemy came howling down upon them.

* * *

"My lord. You should eat something." It had taken him most of the evening to work up the courage to walk up the hill. To bother the brooding elf sitting there, staring back at the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil as if he could see the entire fight unfolding before him.

Again.

Silver hair glinting in the firelight, Celeborn made a moue of distaste and shook his head. "No, the smell sickens me, youngling. Thank you for your concern, but I seek only solitude."

Worried, but fearing to push any harder, Lindir carried the bowl of soup back to the fire where he cradled it in his hands.

"He feels it is his fault."

Shooting a glare at the dark-haired elf, Lindir hissed as the soup sloshed onto his hand. "It was Celebrimbor's doing! It is his fault we—"

"Peace, Lindir." Erestor held up his hands. "Peace. I do not blame." He was so weary, so broken himself. His father and brothers had been killed in the battle. Slaughter more like. Not all of the smiths had been fighters. Some simply loved to create beautiful things. Erestor had found his father lying next to the forge, cut down before he could even raise a hand in defense.

That spoke of a betrayal. And Lindir's gentle father and mother, minstrels who had followed Lord Celeborn from Doriath to Lindon, who had survived a kinslaying… They were dead as well, and their son, barely of age himself, was well on his way to a strong mistrust for all things Noldor.

"Sauron is our enemy, Lindir."

The young elf shot a surly look at him, then let his gaze drop to the soup.

Erestor bowed his head and drew in a deep breath. He was not so old himself that he remembered Beleriand very well. His first, vague memories were of the War of Wrath and the exodus to Lindon from Sirion.

So many had died then.

So many had died now.

A quiet sniffle made him look up and with a soft exclamation, he rose and walked over to sit next to the pale-haired elf. Lindir looked up and threw the bowl of soup at the fire. "I don't care whose fault it is, Erestor! They are dead! And we…we are…"

"Ai, Lindir…" Erestor slipped an arm around the slender shoulders, and pulled the younger elf gently against him as he sobbed.

What could he say? Nothing stole the sting of loss.

Erestor rested his cheek against the youth's hair and quietly began to sing a lament and plea to Elbereth. Perhaps the Lady would take pity on them and bring them to a place of peace and healing from all they had suffered.

Up on the hill, leaning back against a welcoming tree, Celeborn listened to the song and let it ease a bit of the burn in his heart. He was not the only one to have suffered, he knew. Ai, but the sting of losing another home cut to the quick.

At least Galadriel and Celebrían were safe. If anything had happened to them…. No, it did not bear thinking.

A sigh, and he looked upwards. The stars, the beautiful stars. Yes, he could find something good as yet. Something to praise.

Softly at first, he joined in the song, voice gaining strength as others also began to sing.

Their home was gone, families dead, all that they had created ashes.

Again.

* * *

The few things he was taking were gathered, and packed in his saddlebags. Looking around his tower room, satisfied he had not forgotten anything, Glorfindel plucked up a book resting on the desk and flopped backwards onto his bed.

The moon was full, filling the room with a silver glow. It was bright enough that he did not need a lamp lit and that suited his mood. He was brooding, doubtless, but after an evening spent with the wounded, speaking to those who were full of questions about this new haven they were going to make, Glorfindel was weary.

He had seen Ramë again, and asked her how Bronwe was doing. The Lórien elf had only shaken her head and told him she was sailing with the next ship going west.

Sailing.

Glorfindel had lost friends before, more than he cared to count. First in Alqualondë, in those cursed dark days after the death of the Trees, and then on the ice. How he had despised that never-ending whiteness and cold that stole the very heat from your bones. He still hated to be cold, even now. Cold reminded him of the grinding ice, and of Mandos' Halls. Gondolin. He had lost some of his greatest friends there. Ecthelion. Egalmoth. Lalwendë. His brother and sister.

Shaking his head for his brooding, Glorfindel opened the book and flipped through the pages.

Bronwe had given him this book, not long after he had regained his memories. It was a fine volume of Elven history, leather bound, illuminated pages and if that wasn't Elrond's neat writing, he'd eat his boot. A fine gift and one he had enjoyed on many quiet evenings.

Now she was leaving.

What did you do for someone so angry they would not speak to you? Someone you would not see again for an Age or more, and who knew even then? Life was a fickle thing, he knew this from experience.

Glorfindel sighed and wriggled his toes before squirming to find a comfortable spot on the bed. He flipped to the page with an illustration of Elwing. Elrond's mother. Sometimes it boggled him to realize how much had happened in the time he was a guest of Námo. Elwing had accompanied Eärendil to Valinor. A tough choice, to leave your children and follow your mate on a journey that no one previously had ever managed to complete.

They had.

But at what cost? He wondered sometimes, looking at Elrond; did Elwing ever regret leaving her children? Eärendil at least might have a chance to look down and see what transpired in Middle-earth, but Elwing… Her children were lost to her after that day, and Elros…. Ai, Elros. What had that been like, living out the rest of his life as a mortal? Did he ever regret it? Did he ever look at Elrond, the very likeness of himself, and wonder if he had made a wrong choice?

Glorfindel hoped not. He had never asked Elrond about his brother. Not yet. Sometimes Elrond would speak of him, the sadness so clear in his voice that Glorfindel hesitated to ask questions.

Setting the book aside, he stretched and rose, to walk over and look out at the moonlit gardens. Lindon was beautiful. It was also likely Sauron's next target.

Maybe it was just as well Bronwe was sailing. In Aman she would be safe.

Glorfindel would do anything to keep his friends safe. Anything.

Even if it meant sacrifice.

* * *

_TBC_

_So, a much shorter chapter! I realized there were some things I hadn't addressed and tried to do so in this chapter. I'm working on the next one – it's done but it needs tweaking to fit in now. My never-ending thanks to my sib, Razimo, for helping make this better, clearer and letting me hash things out when they were driving me in circles. :-) Thank you for reading and to those who commented, mille grazie! You helped me so much in making this stronger (I hope). _

_Peace,_

_Levade_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__ If it even remotely resembles Tolkien, it's his, his estate, his heirs. _

_This is AU, a sequel to Until We Rise. Comments, suggestions welcome._

**Cast My Soul to the Sea  
Chapter Four**

* * *

"You're determined to leave."

"Yes." Bronwe straightened and turned to look around her cottage. It had been her home for a long time, once a refuge of comfort. "It's bearable now, but when all of you have gone I know the memories will be…" Images of what had been, of dreams unrealized played across her gaze. With a shiver, Bronwe left the room, Ramë following.

Back to the kitchen. The kitchen was cozy and small. Small enough to hold the world out for a time.

"I never thought you were the sort to turn and run when things got tough."

Bronwe stared at her friend, startled. She had survived Doriath. Sirion. Two kin-slayings. The death of her father, her siblings. Now she had to justify this? "What is there to stay for, Ramë?" She gestured around. "Elrond will soon be gone to his valley, Glorfindel with him. You'll leave for Lórien. Círdan will stay until we're all gone." She sighed for the shipwright's fortitude, wishing the sea was enough to hold her as well.

"None of us will be there either, Bronwe, and you can't change your mind once you've sailed. At least here there are familiar faces, people who know you, places you know. You know you'd be welcome to visit any of us." Ramë watched her friend pace, fingers twisting the silver ring on her right hand and shoved down the urge to grab her friend and shake her. "Taurion won't be there, you know."

Bronwe sat, and held up a hand to stop her friend's words. "Yes, I do know. I know, and it will be a long time before his release from Mandos." Looking out the window, at her garden, she rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She was tired. Tired of arguing, and tired of defending herself to others. "But here reminds me of all the things that I've lost." Dropping her hands, she glanced at a corner of the larger room and shivered. Even with all of their disagreements, she wished her mother had stayed instead of sailing. Bronwe hated living alone, but her friends were married, with homes of their own, or lived in other havens.

"So make new memories." Ramë grabbed Bronwe's wrist, gripping tightly enough to get the healer's attention back on her. "Better ones. Taurion left you alone here plenty of times when he was off on patrol or--"

"I won't blame him when I was just as guilty of letting him go and never telling him I was lonely." Frowning, Bronwe pulled her wrist free. "I know none of you liked him." That hurt her now worse than it had when he was alive. Bronwe wasn't going to blame her friends, but to listen to criticism of him now, when his death was still so sharp in her mind, that was unbearable.

Ramë drummed her fingers on the table, watching her friend with an unhappy frown. "I didn't like the way he treated you, Bronwe, that's not the same thing as not liking him. He was tolerable enough. Nothing out of the ordinary, maybe a cut above the typical soldier, but more than once his casual disregard for what you wanted and your role here in the community made me wonder why you put up with him. He was arrogant and rude to your friends, Glorfindel notably, and probably would have been happier if you had left your life and gone to live with his mother."

"He worried about me being alone once Naneth sailed." Moving in with Taurion's mother had never been an option Bronwe had even considered. His mother did not like her. "You never saw how he could be, Ramë. I know he …he wasn't at his best around you and the others, but Glorfindel always did his best to annoy Taurion."

"And he always let himself be annoyed." Ramë shook her head, knowing it was useless, and far from the best time to confront Bronwe, but she was damned if she was just going to let it go and let Bronwe sail when they all knew it wasn't what was best for her. "Look, Bron. What will you do in Aman? They don't need healers in the Blessed Realm."

Rubbing at her wet cheeks, Bronwe shook her head. "Find my brothers, maybe my sister."

"Your mother."

Bronwe grimaced. "There is supposed to be healing in Aman for all ills." Her mother had been bitter from all of her losses. Bitter and critical of everything, including her only surviving child. She had been difficult to live with.

Ramë snorted. "If the person wants it, yes." She sat back with a heavy sigh. "Bron, you're just running. You haven't even thought this through." She gestured towards the bay. "What of those you tend here?"

"There are other healers, Ra. Just as talented, if not moreso."

"None who will touch those you see." It wasn't quite a growl, but close.

Bronwe frowned slightly, uneasily meeting her friend's gaze.

Ramë shrugged, sitting back and readjusting her shawl. "I've seen them creep here when it's dark and they feel safe. Those who would be shunned otherwise. Even humans."

Enough. Tired of defending herself and the unending criticism, Bronwe stood, grabbed a cloak and threw it around her shoulders. "I'll be back."

Leaving Ramë to stare after her. Wondering if she'd pushed too far.

* * *

The sand was still warm and she kicked off her shoes, digging her toes into the warmth. Bronwe stared at the sea and let her thoughts wander, lost in the music of the waves and the play of light on the water.

She knew who it was who wandered up the beach to sit next to her without turning her head to look. No other elf on Arda had the glow Círdan did.

They sat quietly for a long time before she drew in a breath. "I'm torn, wanting to be two places at once." Bronwe shook her head, and lowered her chin to her drawn-up knees. "And neither."

"You're grieving still." Círdan sat close enough for her to feel his shoulder move as he sighed.

"The ship sails tomorrow."

Círdan nodded, noting the uncertainty in her voice. "Child, you know I'm not one to offer advice."

Bronwe turned to look at him and nodded. "Yes." She had certainly asked for advice enough times, especially once her mother had sailed, leaving her, a young elf, very much without family.

The silver eyebrows drew together as Círdan frowned slightly. She was so young. Too young sometimes. He reached up to push a long strand of hair out of her face. "You haven't lived yet, Bronwe. The sailing is for those who are worn down with living or already so dead to the beauty here they cannot stay. You've survived." He nodded, seeing the protest in her eyes. "Living is more than that. To live is to take some risks. Do something you might not have done normally."

"You're not going to remind me of my responsibilities?" Her tone was a bit peeved.

He chuckled, dropping his hand and shook his head. "No. I would tell you to forget them for a while, ignore that oh-so-serious soul of yours…" Silver eyes met hers. "And live." He winked. "Be irresponsible. Dance. Get drunk. Do something shocking." A smile as she huffed and frowned. "Bron…" Círdan reached out again to turn her face towards him. "In all seriousness I tell you…find joy. Once the joy is gone you might as well sail west."

She closed her eyes as silver hair filled her view and lips touched her forehead. Eyes still closed, she heard him rise and walk away, tears burning against her eyelids.

Shadows haunted her gaze as she opened her eyes and looked out, not seeing the ocean, but a green land of dense forests. "I was irresponsible once." It was just a whisper. Bronwe shook her head, grimacing as faces came to her mind's eye. Her mother, expression sad and so still. As if she couldn't believe…

That bitterness was her fault. If she'd …just watched a bit more carefully. Maybe looked back to be certain…

Her thumb rubbed over her fingers as she remembered seeing the small form lying so still. Unmoving, even when the healers were there.

And a small cairn raised for an elf that had barely begun to live reminded Bronwe every day of her carelessness. It was proof that while granted near immortality, elves were not immune to the natural laws. A fall could kill, as could injuries.

The light could be taken away.

Bronwe stood suddenly, shaking out her skirts. Banishing the ghosts of memory with a gesture, even as they followed her down the beach.

Her mother had never forgiven her for that momentary lapse. Never let her forget that cairn was there. Never mind that there had been older children present that day as well. It was Ada who had found her. Comforted her, though he'd said only that sometimes fledglings die.

And hadn't she done all she could from then on to protect them?

Not enough. Never enough to bring the one back and erase her mother's condemnation.

Bronwe stopped as her foot touched something. She looked down to see a child's toy lying in the sand, carelessly left behind; a carved wooden bird rolling back and forth with the waves.

She sighed, looking out to the waves, topped with silver crests as they crashed back down to sweep up the shore. Bending to pick up the toy, turning it in her hand, Bronwe smiled wryly as she set it atop a boulder where the tide couldn't reach. She left it to watch the waves roll in, whispering to the sands.

Wrapping her cloak around her, she smiled sadly as she walked. Who could say but maybe their loved ones still watched over them?

* * *

He hadn't spoken to her, not even when he'd escorted Ramë to her cottage. Bronwe hadn't looked at him then. Through and past, anywhere, but not at him directly.

For once Glorfindel recognized the signs and left her to Ramë. Death affected everyone differently. There was no right way to deal with it when it came. No sense getting mad at a grieving soul when they weren't even truly themselves.

Now they stood at the docks in the grey of the early morning mists. No sunshine. Grey Havens; so aptly named. No wind stirred the quays, and the fog was dense and grey, dampening spirits and clothing.

Ramë had refused to come see her off, and refused to say farewell, only shaking her head at her friend before marching away.

Bronwe stood with a group of other elves gathered around, each hugging her in turn. Friends from Mithlond. Some sad, others resigned, having seen so many others depart for the Blessed Realm. In the wake of Eregion, there was no shortage of those boarding to leave, both alive and dead. Groups arrived quietly, some going straight aboard, while others waited to see their friend or family off.

Walking over to stand next to Elrond, Bronwe opened her mouth and closed it without saying anything. What could she say? They watched as still forms, carefully draped and respectfully borne, were taken aboard the swan ship. Not all of those they had brought out of Eregion had survived, but at least they had been able to see their families one last time. To say…

Círdan spoke with one of the elves and nodded, his gaze going to her.

It was time to go.

Drawing in a deep breath, Bronwe hesitated before stepping forward and walking quickly up the wooden ramp of the ship. At the threshold of stepping down, she stopped. Stopped and frowned as some internal dialogue raged.

"Bronwe?" Círdan stepped in front of her, offering his hand. The rocking of the ships did tend to unsettle the healer's stomach. He read the indecision in her gaze and waited patiently. It was often this way. Leaving was hard for some.

There was no coming back. No returning to Middle-earth.

Bowing her head, brown hair caught up in the rising breeze, Bronwe finally shook her head. "I can't go." So softly said that he almost didn't hear it. Raising her head, she met the silver gaze of her friend. "Give this to Taurion's mother, please? She's on board. I…"

Círdan took the bag, leaning forward to cup her face with his hand. "I will child. Go on, now. I'll see you when I return." He smiled in true joy for none of these journeys were sad to him. "Go. Find joy." A wink, and he reached up to grasp her shoulders, turning and giving a slight push to send her on her way.

Bronwe stumbled slightly at the end of the plank, stopping on the solid wood of the quay. She closed her eyes as she heard Círdan ordering the ropes cast off and anchor weighed. Heard the snap of the sails as they caught the sudden gust of wind, and the creak of the wood as the ship was pulled out into the harbour.

The sorrow rose again, and with it the loneliness. Caught between the sorrow of Middle-earth and the promise of a someday….

Someday. The future suddenly loomed frightening and unbearably long.

Lonely.

Tears blurred her eyes and she drew in a shaky breath as she heard footfalls approach. Saw boots, a bit dusty, leather worn where stirrups would rest. Behind them, another pair.

"Bron?"

They would be leaving soon. Had stayed only to speak with the king, see to those wounded who wanted to accompany them to the distant valley – and to see her off.

She'd spoken in anger. Said things, horrible things.

Yet they were there, here, for her.

She stepped forward, forgiving, forgetting. Accepting the comfort offered. The shelter for a time. Buried her face in his tunic, sank against him as his arms closed around her, gathering her close. Let the grief wash over her in this safe place, allowing another's strength to carry her.

Even the strongest needed a shelter.

He tucked her closer, cloak almost covering her, looking up as Elrond stood before him.

The other sighed and nodded. Protect and preserve, such strong instincts in them all.

Reaching out to stroke the brown hair, Elrond grimaced at the wash of emotions the contact brought. "Home is better than a cold, windy pier."

Nodding, Glorfindel guided Bronwe back along the quays, protecting her from the well-meaning gazes of the others, his bearing discouraging them from approaching or stopping him.

Elrond followed, musing on the loyalty of friendship and the bonds it forged.

Stronger even than those of pain it seemed.

The way it should be.

* * *

"You could come with us." Glorfindel rubbed the mint between his fingers, enjoying the pungent aroma. "Another healer would likely be welcome to all living there."

Elrond, copying a tonic recipe he'd never seen, snorted and looked up from the book. "Are you planning on being ill, Glorfindel?"

"Of course not! I am never ill."

Bronwe coughed quietly, and paused in grinding up leaves in a mortar to look up. "What of the night you were so ill from the oysters and mead?"

Eyeing the pestle, it wouldn't do to have that lobbed at him, Glorfindel did his best to look supremely unconcerned. "I was unused to my body, that is all."

Both healers chuckled while he pretended not to notice. Adding the abused mint to the pile of herbs, grinning as Bronwe reached over and plucked it out to add to the correct pile, Glorfindel wrapped his fingers around the mug of tea before him. He had a great many good memories of this cottage from his time as Bronwe's patient. The kitchen was the coziest room, and the one they always tended to gravitate to. "While waiting for Gil-galad today, I overheard that Lalaith is expecting a child?"

Bronwe looked up, hesitating, then nodded. If it was circulating around Court then it was no secret. "Yes. She asked me to confirm it several days ago."

The very quiet tone brought Elrond's head up, and he frowned. "Her husband is…"

"Was," Glorfindel corrected gently to save Bronwe from informing him. "Calminaion." One of the many who had died in the battle with Sauron in Ost-in-Edhil.

"Her sister has asked her to come live with her family, but if she wants she can certainly move in here with me." The cottage was too large for just one person and Bronwe hated racketing about all by herself. "She…she might not want to leave Mithlond so soon after Calminaion's death."

Glorfindel noticed Bronwe wasn't wearing the silver betrothal ring any longer; she had an unconscious habit of rubbing her ring finger, and he wondered what she had done with it.

"Where does her sister live?"

"In Lórien." Adding several more leaves to the mortar, Bronwe began grinding the mixture up before setting the pestle aside with a thump. "I don't want to leave."

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow as Elrond looked up. "Leave?"

Waving a hand, Bronwe gestured around them. "Mithlond, Ennor. I have had more unasked for advice lately telling me that I should leave and let the peace of Aman soothe my hurts and …it is not funny, Glorfindel!"

Holding up his hands to ward off her anger, he sat back and tried very hard not to smirk. "Bronwe! You know very well this is nothing new." There were always those quick to offer advice and criticism, especially when they thought a social edict had been violated.

"But normally they do not bite at you, do they?" Elrond set his quill down and looked at his one-time student. "This is a part of living so near a royal court, Bronwe. The gossips are always about, but when they are jockeying for position, trying to look better than the rest, they will grab whatever is the current topic to sustain their standing."

"I am not part of the court!"

"What was it this time?" Glorfindel didn't waste time with reasoning. Sometimes you just wanted to be angry, and damn the logic.

Face flushing pink, Bronwe picked up a sprig of rosemary and began to pick off the tiny leaves, furiously tossing them in a pile. "Oh, first it was how unseemly it was for me to be out and about as if nothing had happened and should not I have allowed more time to mourn my loss of Taurion? They moved on to how it was not right that I lived alone, apart from family, and that it was only the fact that Taurion's mother was here to watch over me that made it acceptable." Eyes shading to a light grey, a sure sign of anger, Bronwe tossed aside the rosemary sprig and grabbed another, larger piece, quickly defoliating it as well. "The kicker was telling me that I was deemed rather …fast."

"Fast?" He didn't quite flinch when she looked up and met his disbelieving gaze, but it was a near thing.

"Fast, Glorfindel. As in, inappropriate behavior with patients who are living in the very same home as myself."

"But that is ridiculous, Bronwe!"

"I realize that!" Standing so fast her chair almost fell over, Bronwe walked to the counter, grabbed the pitcher and then stopped, taking several breaths to calm herself. "But to have several court nobles stand before me and tell me to my face that they understand that it is an unfortunate fact that we Sindarin and Silvan Elves are merely ignorant and must be better mentored in the proper laws and customs of the Eldar…"

Elrond arched an eyebrow. He had a good idea which nobles had been on the attack; several stuck-up females with better breeding than sense. "You know they are not right."

"Yes." She turned, pitcher in hand. "But it hurts just the same." Opening the door, she hesitated then met Glorfindel's gaze. "You might want to speak to Meldisse and assure her that you never 'consorted' with a savage such as myself." The door snapped shut behind her, leaving Glorfindel to stare at empty space.

Shaking his head, he looked to Elrond with an annoyed frown. "Lalwendë was exactly the same, all claws and hissing if you even looked at whoever was escorting her. Why are some females so …."

"So like felines?" Elrond smirked and bent over his copying again. "Maybe you should ask yourself that, Glorfindel. Perhaps you engender expectations and when they are not met the disappointment turns to--."

"Catty behavior? Thank you, Elrond." Sour tone, sour look. Glorfindel huffed and stood. "I'm going to go check that the supplies are in order for our leaving."

"That would not necessitate a side-trip to see Meldisse, would it?" Looking up, smiling, Elrond noted the annoyed expression on his friend's face.

Glorfindel paused in fastening his cloak. "To further incite her anger on those we leave behind? No." A sly grin. "I think ignoring Meldisse would be a far better thing."

"And one bound to aggravate."

"Yes, well…" Glorfindel walked out of the kitchen, voice floating behind. "I would not want to further engender expectations in that empty head of hers."

Elrond rose and wiped his hands on an ink-stained cloth before going to the back door. Opening it, he followed the path to the well where Bronwe was drawing up water. Leaning his hip on the well, he let the quiet of the forest behind Bronwe's cottage sink into his senses. From beyond the dunes behind the small woods, he could hear the waves pounding the shore. A storm was probably moving in if the waves were any indication. "I am going to miss this." He turned his head to find her gazing down at the water in the well. "As well as you, my friend."

She nodded, hands tight on the bucket. "It won't be the same without you here, Elrond."

"No." He reached out to take the bucket from her, offering a wry smile. "I imagine it will be far quieter."

Bronwe held the pitcher as he poured the water into it, remembering how he had coaxed her into learning more about healing and encouraged her to use her skills to help others. She had always been very quiet and shy. Putting aside her own concerns to help others had gone a long ways toward ridding her of the shyness. "Your own haven."

"You are welcome to come with us. You know this."

"I know and…thank you but I'm not ready to leave here yet." She looked at the towering pines that lived behind her garden. They were just as much friends to her, familiar and beloved. "It's true the memories are painful but …" Bronwe shook her head. "I am not ready to give them up quite yet."

He understood. Part of grieving was letting go of past hopes and dreams that could never be, and learning to find new ones. "Ramë has said she will leave with us as well." Setting the bucket aside, he took up the pitcher full of water, arching an eyebrow at her amused smile.

Bronwe sighed. "She was furious with me for wanting to sail. To quit, as she said."

Elrond nodded as they walked back towards the cottage. "She wants you to be happy." He stopped and waited for her to meet his gaze. "We all do, Bronwe. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but you have not seemed happy for quite some time." Even before Taurion died, but that he would not say.

She stiffened and looked away, twisting her fingers together. He had told her before that trying to make others happy at the cost of what she wanted would someday come to a boil. Of course she had not listened, but… "I was happy. For a while but then…" No, she was not going to cry, not here, not now. Bronwe looked up, blinking rapidly and let the wave of grief roll over her before speaking. "I will be fine, Elrond." Now she looked at him, meeting grey eyes two shades darker than her own, full of concern. "I will." At his look, she laughed. "I will! I promise to write even and keep you up to date on court gossip."

As if he would ever miss that, but he gave a nod and set the pitcher on the counter as she opened the door. "Don't forget any new poultices that you come across. That one, with the seaweed…I've never seen that before."

"Old Falathrim secret," Bronwe intoned solemnly, eyes twinkling.

Healer humor. Reaching out to hug her, Elrond gently tugged a braid. "Don't forget to come see us off. Glorfindel will pout if you don't."

"Ha," she scoffed but followed him to the front door where he pulled his cloak from the peg. "He'll be too busy preening for Meldisse and her ilk."

"Bron."

She waved a hand and darted to the kitchen, hurrying back. "I know, I'm sorry. I shall be there. Of course." Pressing the book of recipes into his hands, she ignored his protests. "I have them memorized. Now go and make sure everything is in place so you don't have to fret all night."

"I will see you there."

She sighed as he walked off and wondered what mischief Ramë was up to. Grabbing her cloak, Bronwe set off for the quays, knowing it was the best place to find a Telerin elf.

* * *

Ramë and Elrond spoke in quiet voices a ways separate, leaving Bronwe to help Glorfindel settle the saddlebags on the horses. The supply wagons had already started out, along with most of the soldiers going with Elrond. Gil-galad had said his farewell, which had really been more for the Court and the community as anything he needed to say had already been said in private. He had asked for the blessing of the Valar and Ilúvatar to be on them as they set out to found the new haven, hugged Elrond and gone to stand next to Círdan. The old shipwright had little use for formalities, and was only waiting for the right moment to slip away and get back to his shipyard. All this fuss was a bit ridiculous, but he too had said farewell to Elrond and Glorfindel.

Which left just a few more good-byes.

"This is new, isn't it?" Bronwe lightly touched the bow strapped to the back of Glorfindel's saddle. "The one you competed with was a lighter wood than this."

The blond elf nodded, stepping over to lift the bow free with one light pull. He strung it and held it out to her. "The Galadhrim make these." His grin was a bit wicked. "I won this one from Haldir of Lórien."

Admiring the dark wood and the graceful, twisting design worked into the wood, Bronwe shook her head, shooting a smile at the other. "I probably don't want to know." Pulling it just enough to bend the wood, she eased the string back, smiling in admiration. "Beautiful work."

"When you come to Elrond's haven, I'll even let you shoot it." He grinned, taking it as she unstrung it and handed the bow back, retying it to the saddle.

"Kind, generous…" Bronwe snorted as the blond playfully preened, slanting a look towards the other two. Looked as though their conversation was a bit more involved. "I'm touched."

Glorfindel opened his mouth, clearly checked himself and smiled instead. He sobered suddenly. "Bron, are you sure you're –"

"I'm fine, "she insisted a touch too vehemently, grimacing as Elrond and Ramë looked over. Ignoring Glorfindel's sharply arched eyebrow, Bronwe stepped past him to take the horse's bridle, stroking the soft jaw. The animal leaned into the touch, nudging her chest in encouragement. She smiled at the horse. "I'll be fine." Looking at him, Bronwe smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry… Thank you for…" She shrugged.

"For caring?" Glorfindel finished, with a good-natured grin and he snorted. "Silly creature." Stepping over to her, he pulled her into a hug. "If you need anything, let us know." She nodded, fingers clutching for a moment at his tunic as if clinging to something secure. Just a moment and then she let go. His arms tightened around her briefly and then he stepped back, leaning forward to press a kiss to her temple. "Even if you don't need anything…let us know."

Bronwe smiled, blinking through a film of tears. She nodded, not trusting her voice at that moment.

Elrond and Ramë came over and Bronwe offered a bright smile for him. "My esteemed mentor, now to be lord of a haven…."

Shaking his head at her foolishness, Elrond embraced her. The act wasn't convincing, but if that was how she wanted it… "Yes, and see you aren't too long in coming to visit me, either." He stepped back as Ramë pulled the other woman into a tight, quick hug.

"Don't be stubborn and pretend you're fine." Ramë stepped back. "I expect you to write me. Keep me from wreaking too much havoc upon Lórien." With a wink, she accepted the reins to her horse, stepping lightly into Glorfindel's cupped hands and settled in the saddle.

Nodding to Ramë, Bronwe arched an eyebrow at Elrond. "I'll wait until it is habitable. The dust settled and rooms furnished."

Glorfindel chuckled. "There speaks a wise elf." Wry grin. "It will be a bit rough for a time."

Elrond frowned, feigning offence. "This from the elf who slept in the trees of Lothlórien and thought them passably comfortable?"

"I don't trust those flets and talain of theirs." Glorfindel wrinkled his nose. "The trees I trust."

"Trees don't lie," Bronwe chuckled.

"So speaks the Silvan, raised in the forest," Glorfindel nodded to her with a grin.

Elrond just shook his head, ever tolerant of his companion's whims. "Did you get enough to keep us from starving, old friend? Or have you forgotten we carry arrows and bows to hunt?"

With a cheerful grin in the face of Elrond's sarcastic wit, Glorfindel patted the saddlebags. "Bronwe insisted, milord. Would you have me insult our hostess?"

Swinging up on his horse, Elrond settled his cloak, and checked to be certain his weapons were at hand. "I'm sure it never even crossed your mind to do so."

"Not in this instance," Glorfindel agreed, lightly mounting and stilling his horse.

Bronwe laughed, pushing a braid behind her ear. "Safe journey, my friends. Send messages when you arrive."

Ramë quirked a smile, nodding.

"We will." Glorfindel nodded, meeting her gaze.

Elrond nodded. "Send word if…"

"Go!" Bronwe laughed, throwing out a hand. She started to turn, chuckling as Glorfindel offered a last smile and a sweeping bow before urging his horse after Ramë. Walked to the entry of her cottage and listened as the hoof beats grew faint, then were silent.

Stepping into the front room, she sighed, looking around.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

Too many memories.

There were tasks that needed to be done. Mending, sorting herbs.

Find joy, Círdan had told her.

Walking through the room, out to the garden, Bronwe headed for the old forest, trees standing like guardians in the moonlight. Branches reached out to welcome her, whispering as the breeze flitted through their leaves.

A lifetime of habit soon had her up the tree and cradled in the crook of a branch, staring at the sky, softly humming songs older than the brightest star that sailed the heavens. The singing soothing to her soul as she walked the paths of the past.

* * *

The sound of waterfalls met their ears long before the sight of the silver ribbons plunging down the valley walls. Halting their horses at the rise of a narrow deer path to gaze in wonder at the beauty before them Elrond sighed. Quiet peace seemed to wrap around his soul, speaking to him.

This was right.

For once Glorfindel wasn't restless, eager to move on. Instead he had pulled one leg up over the front of his saddle and was leaning against his leg, staring up at the sky.

Neither of them in a hurry. Erestor had already led the last of the group in, able to pick up the path the others who had arrived earlier had taken. The Eregion survivor seemed to have a knack for organization and it gave him something to do that took his mind off his loss.

"If I close my eyes…" Glorfindel's voice barely carried to the other elf's ears. "I can almost see Gondolin in the sound of these waters." Shaking his head at his folly, he opened his eyes to look at Elrond, offering a wry smile.

"Will you be content here, my friend?" Elrond could already see where to begin. There. Could see it in his mind's eye. "Imladris, for that is what I have decided upon calling it, will be nothing as grand or towering as Gondolin."

Glorfindel's smile was genuine, lighting the blue eyes. "No walls here. No kings. Only a people willing to live the best of what life has given us?" He nodded. "Aye." Looked out again at the valley. "Content and then some."

Elrond smiled, a smile much happier, more carefree than it had been for decades. "Let us go and make it a reality, then."

* * *

_The end _

_There is more, another story that carries Glorfindel's returning to Middle-earth forward, but time and changes have made it necessary to re-write a great deal of that story. I'll be working on it, and try to post for anyone interested.  
Thank you for reading! :-)_

_Peace,_

_Levade_


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